


The Observer

by BookishPower



Series: Observations [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, Detectives, F/M, Gen, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-09-02 21:04:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16794718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookishPower/pseuds/BookishPower
Summary: Who is behind the skyrocketing trend in illegal potions abuse? The Ministry of Magic wants to know. Of less importance to most - who thought it would be funny to pair up Investigators Malfoy and Granger and put them on the case? (first in a series)





	1. Chapter 1

_Teamwork is essential – it allows you to blame someone else. – Author Unknown_

"Are _you_ lost?"

Draco remembered when that same tone used to issue from his lips.

"Just looking for the men's room," he replied as equably as he could manage. Under the circumstances, and under the witch's scathing glare, it wasn't much.

"I'm sure there's one in your _own_ department," she said, moving as though she wished she could block him, but didn't have the proper authority. "You know - back there? Where they keep you under guard?"

One needed to know when to pick a battle, and Draco knew that this wasn't his time. Not over restrooms, anyway.

"Right," he snapped back, just to get the last word, and spun on his heel. Witty retorts seemed to have failed him, as of late.

The new Ministry of Magic statue in the front hall (redone for the third time) now featured a bland witch and wizard smiling in harmony and in equal power with a centaur, a mermaid, and a house elf. (The goblins had requested to be left out of this new arrangement. The centaurs were still divided about the entire issue. The merpeople would never know.)

Draco Malfoy shouldn't have been noticeable against all that gold and rushing water, but he knew the signs. Knew them since his first year at Hogwarts, actually, though he hadn't minded the attention then. Craved it and sought after it, then. Here though, the shifted glances, the blank stares, the sudden frowns - he knew his status among these people, and it wasn't good.

Wouldn't have even had to go down as far as Magical Maintenance and pass by this place if it wasn't for those stares at lunch hour. The silence when he entered a busy break room was quite a deterrent. As a trainee in his department, it wasn't like they were assigned offices or desks, or even a chair (until they'd proven themselves worthy), so a working lunch was out.

Not that he _wanted_ to eat with them, anyway. Better no company than bad company.

A quiet alcove with a bench, he'd found, suited his needs adequately.

People seemed to think that he'd been humbled, and while it was true - he'd been humbled into the dirt - few seemed to understand exactly when such had occurred. Most assumed that he'd had to reevaluate his priorities after the Dark Lord's death, when the war was won. Few knew that the moment he'd truly had to come to grips with his status in the world was far before the war got serious.

_"Young Malfoy!" the high, cold voice sounded across the hall._

_Draco felt the blood drain from his face, and with his aunt's hiss to stand up straight nipping at his ear, he stepped forward before the cloaked figure, his pulse beating hard in his ears. "My Lord?" he rasped, disgusted at the quaver in his voice, but unable to help it._

_"Young Draco Malfoy," the voice continued, as if it were the most amusing thing in the world. "Are you of age?"_

_"No, my Lord."_

_"Scion of a disgraced line, it would seem. Well, I think I might have the right task for you to prove your manhood. Your father cannot act, but continually disgraces himself - and me - time and time again. Perhaps he did not have the proper motivation…Narcissa!"_

_Draco's heart dropped into his shoes. There was nothing he could do but watch as his mother stepped forward, beside him. She dared not touch him where Voldemort could see, but he felt the support in her presence._

_"Come forward, Narcissa," Voldemort murmured. "Next to me - generally the part of your sister, no?"_

_Narcissa moved forward, and if there was hesitation in her step, Draco could not see it. As she drew near to Voldemort, he twirled his wand, ever so casually, to aim at her throat._

_"Draco, I have a task for you," Voldemort said easily. "I need someone with access to Hogwarts to do this for me - and do it well. Succeed, and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest imaginations. Fail…" and here, the wand poked Narcissa's pale throat, leaving a scorch mark across her pearly skin. "…and the Malfoy line must end here. Your mother will stay here with me - insurance that you will perform with…proper motivation. I daresay this task will prove a greater test of your skills than any…what are they called now? OWLs?"_

_A chorus of sycophantic laughter joined the Dark Lord's shrill howl. Draco strained to hear anything over the buzzing in his ears._

Draco had known exactly what his position was in the world at that moment.

His connections with people of status were mostly gone, and he could not find it within himself to walk around the wizarding world with an apology in his step. His pride would let him take this change in status and earn what respect he could - but it would not allow him to grovel. He was what he was - this far and no further.

It was with relief that he passed through the doors into the Magical Law Enforcement Department, right into the grudging toleration of his division. He was greeted by a small man whose thick, bristly moustache and shiny bald head gave him the appearance of a friendly sea lion, pushing his way through a row of desks to reach him.

"Malfoy! Back early! That's good, I need someone to go out with me on this case!" Odo Oddsbodds bounded to his side, a dynamo of energy despite his deceptively portly stature, lime green porkpie hat perched jauntily over his bald head. "Breaking and entering at a shop in Diagon Alley! Time to put those skills to work, my boy!"

Despite his irritating habit of calling Draco "boy" or "lad," he didn't really mind Oddsbodds that much. The wizard was an accepting sort, and cared more about his work than he did about inter-office politics. There was nothing grudging about Oddsbodds, unless it was when the evidence couldn't point him in the direction of a possible suspect.

He often got the feeling that Oddsbodds regarded him as a student of more than investigations.

_They were in a pub in Ottery St. Catchpole, examining the blood spatter-patterns on the rough wooden walls. The pub was oddly quiet, the air a nauseating blend of sour beer, sweat, cheap perfume, tobacco, with an nauseating undernote of vomit. An ugly brawl, he'd gathered, between a Pureblood and a Muggleborn, both of whom had endured much during the war, both of whom were now recovering in St. Mungo's. Either that or Quidditch rivalries – but really, what did it matter at this point?_

_Their job was to determine how the fight had happened - witness accounts seemed to be biased in favor of one or the other, with no one agreeing on the circumstances. Assault charges would be filed, undoubtedly - but who was the aggressor - and who was fighting in self-defense?_

_"But that's all right," Oddsbodds said, squatting down to examine the "cast-off" that had dried into a jagged dark brown spatter on the pub stool. He ran his finger across the bristles of his thick grey moustache. "We can sort it out ourselves. The evidence will speak more clearly than a room full of pub patrons claiming to have been too sloshed to see anything."_

_He stopped, considering the glowing dartboard, and pointed his wand at it, causing the dot of the bullseye to expand rapidly before Oddsbodds gave a lazy flick of his wrist. "Rigged. I'll inform the manager."_

_Draco eyed the bloody mess with distaste, taking care where he stepped and what he brushed against. Who cared who struck first? They were both idiots in his eyes. This seemed futile to him - it all looked the same color, and there was no way to be sure whose blood belonged to whom._

_"We can figure out how the blood flew, sure," Draco said, squatting down next to Oddsbodds. "But where do we go from there? It all looks the same - this blood could belong to any-" he broke off suddenly, aware of what he was saying._

_He risked a glance up, and saw Oddsbodds giving him a knowing glance, before holding up a sample kit._

_"We take samples, and work on it in the lab, my boy," he said kindly._

_Whatever beliefs he'd held about blood and status - the ones that Voldemort hadn't already shattered during those two years of terror - died that day._

"Do I need anything?" he asked, falling into step with the shorter man.

"Just your wand and your keen mind!" Oddsbodds replied blithely, as they passed through the office. A few people looked up in annoyance at his enthusiasm. Many of them veterans of the Second Wizarding War, they regarded Oddsbodds' fascination with reconstructing the scene of a crime with faint revulsion. They were the ones who actually caught the wrongdoers, after all.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught sight of Harry Potter, and thanked his admittedly spotty luck that he saw as little of The Boy Who Lived as was possible, given that they worked in the same department. Potter was bent over a desk, scratching notes on a map, and Draco looked away so as not to get his attention. Potter's hatred he could bear - his pity would have been intolerable. The occasional acknowledgement of the other's existence was fine – along with the knowledge that Potter would always be the _Boy_ who Lived, never the _Man_. Petty, but satisfying.

Oddsbodds was just about to disapparate when Draco caught his attention. "Sir? Where in Diagon Alley are we going?"

"Dungo's Apothecary," the little man replied, and winked out with a pop like a soap bubble. Draco followed.

Hippocrates Dungo's Chemistry in Diagon Alley was not the most popular chemistry in the area. That special honor was reserved for Pedgog's Potent Potions and Bobbin's Discount Chemistry Shop. Location probably had more to do with it than anything, Draco thought, noting the shop's distance from the hub of Diagon Alley traffic. The shop's decrepit appearance couldn't help matters, either - the shop looked more like a shack than a clean and safe chemistry. There was a layer of hazy grime across the windows, a rain gutter swung listlessly from the roof, the front stoop was missing several bricks, and the thatched roof needed repairs badly, looking rather like Potter's hair on a windy day.

"Was that damage there before or after the break-in?" Draco asked, pointing up at the gutter. Oddsbodds followed his direction and peered up as well.

"Not sure…I generally go to Pedgog's, myself. That's why we ask questions!" Oddsbodds said cheerily, pausing at the stoop to compose himself before using his wand to make the door swing open ahead of them.

Stepping inside, Draco looked around for anything obviously out of place. The interior was just as dingy and depressing as the exterior, smelling faintly of menthol and damp. Most of the bottles of healing lotions and potions on the overcrowded shelves had a fine layer of dust clinging to them, dingy in the bright light of midday. The shop catered more to the ill than to those wishing to stay well, so there was a distinct lack of brightly-colored Vitalius Solutions and health potions, and an overabundance of opaque solutions with dull yellow labels. Even the rack of get-well cards looked pale and anemic in the afternoon sunlight.

Beside him, Oddsbods seemed to be having similar thoughts, judging by his poker-faced evaluation of the store. He cleared his throat gruffly. "Mr. Dungo?" he called out. "This is Investigator Oddsbodds with Magical Law Enforcement. We were called in for the report of a break-in."

There was some shuffling from the back of the store. Finally, an old wizard stepped out, hobbling forward in a stumbling walk as his threadbare green robes rippled around and tangled about his legs. He resembled nothing so much as a turtle to Draco's eyes, watery red eyes, wrinkled little neck poking out of his robes, bald head with taut sweaty skin. He stopped short, seeming to sway on his feet.

"Thank you," he wheezed. "Not sure if they've…if they've…" Dungo broke off, his gaze caught by the light on a shiny set of potion ladles.

"If they've stolen anything?" Draco finished for him impatiently. Oddsbodds shot him a look.

"Yes," Dungo said absently, his gaze still fixed on the shine.

"Perhaps you can take us to where the person or persons broke in?" Oddsbodds prompted Dungo, kindly.

"Oh! Yes." Dungo tore his gaze away from the ladles and turned around, walking back into the shop. Oddsbodds gave Draco a reproving glance, and they trailed afterward.

They reached the back of the shop, and Dungo showed them where the doorknob had been blown open. Scorch marks scarred the doorframe. Draco held up a hand to the marks, feeling the echo of anger sparking against his skin. Dark magic – though they could verify that in other ways.

"What kind of wards did you have up?" Oddsbodds said, examining the scorch marks.

"Oh, the usual…" Dungo stared off into the distance, and Draco finally got a clear look into his eyes. They were bloodshot, and so dilated they looked like black holes in his skull.

"Mr. Dungo?" he asked. "Mr. Dungo, are you all right?"

He snapped his fingers in front of the older man's face. Dungo blinked. Oddsbodds looked up, interested.

"Mr. Dungo, how many fingers am I holding up?" he asks, extending three in front of Dungo's bulbous nose.

"…six?" Dungo mumbled, as if he wasn't quite sure of the answer.

"Mr. Dungo, have you been drugged? Have you been hurt?" Draco asked, though he was pretty certain of the answer.

"I don't…"

"I think we need to get you to St. Mungo's, Mr. Dungo," Oddsbodds said briskly.

"Well, all right, then," Dungo said affably. Oddsbodds extended a hand and gripped Dungo's elbow. Draco hesitated for a fraction of a second, then followed his example, gripping the soiled robes around Dungo's elbow, and helped guide him to a sooty fireplace inside the store.

"Just a moment, Mr. Dungo. I'll Floo over with you, but I need to call someone to help Draco investigate." Draco chafed at this - he was perfectly capable of securing a crime scene and doing an initial examination - he'd worked several initial examinations solo so far during his training in the department.

Oddsbodds grasped a bit of Floo powder in one hand, knelt down before the grate, and, throwing it in, shouted "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!" before sticking his head down into the glowing embers.

Draco scowled - he wasn't aware of any Weasley that worked in the Auror office - nor was he keen on working with any of the ginger brood.

Beside him, Dungo stared off into the distance, drooling slightly, humming what sounded like Muggle jazz.

Oddsbodds spent a few more minutes talking to someone at Wheezes, then climbed back out, brushing soot from his shoulders.

"I think I'll Side-Along with Dungo here and see if we can find out what he's been affected by," he said, turning to Draco, and taking hold of Dungo's elbow again. "I've called in the swing shift trainee to give you a hand inventorying this place. Think you may have quite a job here." Oddsbodds' gaze swung to encompass the entire overcrowded shop.

Draco fought to keep the grimace off of his face. He _hated_ group work – absolutely detested it. As one of the better students in his year, he was highly sought after for homework help, a fact that flattered him until he realized that his work was being used by other students as their own. Malfoys didn't let anyone steal the glory that was rightly theirs.

From then on, he far preferred working by himself, or with lackeys who could pick up the busy work. Crabbe and Goyle submitted to this willingly enough until they'd had to spend a good deal of their sixth year as little girls. The Death Eaters could provide muscle to get him to the tower – everything else he'd been able to coerce or arrange to his liking. He'd chosen Investigations partly because Investigators mostly worked by themselves in the field.

"Mr. Oddsbodds, sir, who..?" Draco trailed off. "Who should I expect?"

"Miss Hermione Granger," Oddsbodds called over his shoulder. "I believe you were acquainted back at Hogwarts?"

Draco nodded jerkily. He'd forgotten that Granger was working in Investigations as well, though because she was on another shift, they rarely ran into each other. Which was as well, he thought. She seemed the type to forgive…but never to forget.

The last time he'd seen her, she was being swallowed up in the embrace of Potter and an untold number of rodent-like gingers after they had both finished up their schooling. With no one to congratulate _him_ , he'd palmed a handful of biscuits from the refreshment tables, charmed his trunk to float after him, and sped down the path to Hogsmeade as quickly as he could move without appearing to run.

It wasn't until he'd glanced back, about to Apparate away, when he realized that this would likely be the last time he'd ever see the place.

He turned back a moment, hands gripping the hard iron gates, sliding down in a loose hold. He'd hated his time here, true. Incompetent teachers, Mudbloods, Perfect Potter, and dangerous creatures in his younger years. Orders to kill, orders to torture, and the betrayal of friends in his later years. A few moments of glory here and there – but overall, an unfortunate place to come of age in. Sometimes he wondered how he would have fared in Durmstrang.

"I'll be back as soon as I am able," Oddsbodds called behind him, leading Dungo out the door and past the wards. "Please fill Miss Granger in on the details. I think she said she'd be walking over."

"Yes, sir."

When Oddsbodds and Dungo finally disapparated, Draco let his shoulders slump, and a long sigh tore its way out of him. Just the way he'd hoped to spend his afternoon. Granger might not have deserved the Mudblood taunts he'd thrown her way during school - but she'd deserved the ones about being a bossy swot.

He wondered idly if there was a painkiller there that he could take before Granger arrived - something to stave off the headache that she would inevitably cause by claiming the case as her own.


	2. Chapter 2

"Malfoy?"

He hadn't expected uncertainty from _her_ , but there it was. Hermione Granger stood silhouetted in the bright sunshine streaming through the doorframe of Dungo's Chemistry, looking as if she thought she was intruding on something private. The trait he'd come to associate most with her, her bushy hair, was neatly plaited back along her neck and down her back. "Oddsbodds said to help you?"

Confidence was a garb he'd been wearing from an early age. Like armor, he donned it at all times, secure in its posture of folded arms, wide stance, lifted chin. Unlike armor, however, it took great concentration to keep this garb from floating away in the face of shock or humiliation. He donned it now.

Granger looked much the same as she had when they'd both attended their last year of Hogwarts, the Wizarding War behind them. Her face had lost its girlish roundness, had settled into more adult angles, something that he figured happened on that hellish year when he'd been trying to be invisible and she'd been running for her life and her friends.

Like most of the female Aurors, Granger eschewed jewelry, and preferred boots to heels. Unlike the Aurors, who needed the extra fabric to conceal what they might be carrying and to blend in with the crowd, she preferred dark trousers and shirts. The billowing fabric of regular robes could brush against items in a crime scene, taint the evidence. Granger wore no pointed hat, which Draco considered odd, since that mark of status was something he thought she'd flaunt. Her eyes, as always, seemed to take in and evaluate everything, including himself.

"Yes," he replied. Granger seemed to consider this word for a moment, then take it as her invitation, and stepped across the creaking floorboards over to him, a large camera in her hand.

He wondered what she was waiting for - for him to start shouting insults, or to start telling him what to do, perhaps?

"Dungo reported a break-in around lunch," he said, breaking the silence. "Oddsbodds and I got here, and I realized that he was drugged. He didn't seem to know if anything had been taken. Oddsbodds said for us to inventory the place and see if anything is missing."

"You realized?" He bristled at this, but Granger didn't seem to be mocking him. She seemed instead to be regarding him a bit strangely, as if getting his measure. This was going to test every ounce of his sorely tried patience.

"Yes. Anyway, we can split the list and start looking."

"Or we could cut our time and look behind the counter," Granger said, already turning to the glass counter at the front of the store. "Most chemists keep their money and any controlled substances back here. It's unlikely someone would go to this much trouble for essence of dittany or a get-well card."

Less than a minute. Less than _one_ minute, and he could already feel his cheeks draining of blood in anger, the pangs of a headache at his temple.

"That's what this list is," he bluffed, walking over and hastily turning a page, hoping she wouldn't see. "List of all the controlled substances Dungo had…not that there seems to be much."

_**DUNGO CHEMISTRY LICENSED CONTROLLED SUBSTANCES** _

_**With official signed permission from a St. Mungo's Healer or other United Kingdom board-certified healer, Hippocrates Hibblewith Dungo is licensed to dispense the following substances in controlled amounts:** _

_**Class D Controlled Substances:** _

_**Dragon Toenail Powder - Five grams per patient, per month** _

_**South American Freshwater Plimpy Hearts - Three hearts per patient, per month** _

_**Syrup of Greek Lotus - One dram per patient, per two months** _

_**Sargasso Sea Serpent Fangs (crushed) - Ten grams per patient, per prescription** _

_**Opiate of Poppy seed - dispense as directed by healer** _

_**Edelweiss Juice - One-half dram per patient, per three months** _

_**Class E Controlled Substances:** _

_**Boomslang Skin - ¼ gram per patient (not to be purchased in conjunction with bicorn horn)** _

_**Bicorn Horn - ½ gram per patient (not to be purchased in conjunction with boomslang skin)** _

_**Mashed Rattlesnake Plantain - Three drams per patient** _

_**Dried Cannabis Leaf - Five grams per patient** _

As she examined the list, Draco tapped his hands with a silent _Impervius_ , letting him touch the scene safely. A pearlescent glow emitted from his skin, and a check of Granger's slender fingers showed that she'd already done so.

A loud pop and a flash of light meant that she'd taken a picture of the glass cases, unbroken and untouched behind the counter. "The Class E substances seem to be all here - row's full," Granger spoke, as Draco examined the till, finding it still in good order - though with few enough galleons, sickles, and knuts in their individual drawers. "I guess he might have some in his back storeroom."

"Probably," Draco replied equably, hoping that she'd keep to the matter at hand. "Till doesn't seem to have been touched."

Granger made a noise that might have been disapproval or acknowledgement. "Looks like some Greek Lotus is gone - any recent purchases?"

Draco tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice as he pawed through the ledger. "Knotgrass…flutterby seed…here we are, two grams of Greek Lotus Syrup?"

"That's it," said Granger, sounding disappointed. More lights flashed, and Draco finally tugged the camera away from her, ostensibly to photograph the till, but more to keep her from setting off the flash in his face.

He grimaced at a sudden thought – would he have to take separate pictures of all the things she'd photographed? He refused to rely on her for anything more than he already had. They found enchanted keys for the cabinets, opening them up to do a more thorough examination.

They continued their search behind the counter, and he felt uncomfortably aware of the rustle of her robes beside him, the nearness of someone who despised him (and who wasn't shy about expressing her displeasure with him). Granger, he remembered, was good at witty retorts - almost as good as he, back in his heyday. Nowadays, he felt dulled and at a constant disadvantage, as if the razor edge of his personality was chipped and broken from having to knuckle under.

Perhaps if he could get her talking about something, she'd forget that it was him…and would perhaps leave the investigation in his hands.

"Why did Oddsbodds know to find you at Wheezes?" he asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

Draco heard her pause as she shifted tiny clinking vials and bottles, and watched the movement of her face in the reflection of the glass cabinet doors. "Ron works there - kind of to keep George company, you know."

No, he didn't know. Well, he'd heard of Fred Weasley's death, but not of Ron's employment at the joke shop. Nor of Granger's relationship with the Weasel, implied by the slight gleam in her eye, the blush on her cheekbones.

"I generally have lunch with the two of them, so Oddsbodds knew to find me there," she concluded, and the second pause made Draco aware that she'd turned to get a look at his expression. He turned quickly and maintained a fixed gaze in counting the vials of mashed rattlesnake plantain.

"Ah."

"I take it you have day shift?" she asked, and he got the feeling that she was just as uncomfortable with the situation as he was. At least that put them on equal footing.

"Yes…just coming back from lunch myself when- hang on-"

Granger turned to look at him in interest, but he'd already stood up, looking at the door. "Look at that - the sign on the door says that it's closed."

"So?"

Draco turned around, exiting the counter and walking up to the listed hours of operation. "Look - Dungo's old hours used to be from 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. - no lunch break. But he's crossed them out and now he opens at 12 p.m."

Granger frowned. "Maybe he can't keep up with business?"

"Then he'd hire extra help," Draco replied, growing excited at this potential new turn in the case. "But from the amount in that till, I can't imagine business is all that good." He frowned, remembering Dungo's bloodshot eyes. "You don't suppose…maybe he's abusing potions? Some of them can't get up in the morning so well anymore."

Potions abuse had always been a problem in the wizarding world, though generally less so than St. Mungo's liked to extemporize on. Draco could remember seedy corners and alcoves in Knockturn Alley where dealers would linger, waiting to dole out potions ingredients for exorbitant prices.

Use of such potions had skyrocketed, however, after the war's end. Grieving family members and spouses sought to forget their pain and losses with several illicit potions, growing addicted to the numbing sensation of Catatonius Concoctions and Essence of Ecstasius. Invented for psychiatric care, the potions allowed the user to shut out the pain of the present, exist in an anesthetized cocoon in which the past couldn't touch them.

More than a few crime scenes that Draco accompanied Oddsbodds to bore traces of potions abuse. Since the potion recipe was restricted knowledge, brewers guessed at the ingredients with varying degrees of success, putting both them and those they sold to in danger. Except in the case of dealers and brewers, the Ministry turned a forgiving eye, paroling the abusers out with mandatory counseling sessions.

"Dungo did lose a brother, I think," Granger began uncertainly. "He would have access to some of the key ingredients…"

"Personal stash, you think?" Draco said, nearly biting his tongue at the end of the sentence. Since when did he care what she thought? "Or maybe he's dealing it as well?"

"Maybe," she replied, biting her lip, carefully not looking at him. "Does he live above the store?"

"I think so," Draco muttered. _"Lumos!"_

He marched into the back storerooms, looking for a staircase or a bedroom, his wand held alit before him. Behind him, he could hear Granger's quiet step.

"There we are," he said, pointing his wand at a well-used slouching chair, several empty and stained beakers balanced precariously on its armrests. Even from there, his nose pricked and wrinkled at the syrupy-sweet scent coming off of them - no mistaking _that_ odor.

"Familiar sight?"

He'd been waiting for it, and here it was - though, surprisingly, it was not about his family, his actions, his switch to her side, or the tattoo he kept hidden on his arm.

"No, as a matter of fact," he snarled, taking pleasure in the sharp jerk of her head towards him, the widened eyes. "Whatever else you lot might think I'm guilty of, potions abuse isn't on the list." Hermione's face, however, fell back into composed lines, except for her eyebrows, which lifted at him in what might have been amusement.

"Actually, I meant your work on the Catatonius bust in Hogsmeade," she said, strolling with a casual air towards the cabinet near the chair. "Oddsbodds was bragging on you."

Oh. He felt his face flush, and wondered if she'd made that up just to confound him.

Granger looked as if she were debating broaching the subject, but decided against it. Instead, she opened the cabinet.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed, screwing up her features into a moue of distaste at the smell. The cabinet was stuffed to the brim with the ingredients for Catatonius Concoctions. "Well, at least we know whoever broke in wasn't after that."

"Do you…" Draco began, and cleared his throat. Granger closed the cabinet door and faced him, fanning the air about her face. "Do you think whoever broke in was aware of Dungo's habit? Timed their break-in for when he'd be sacked out here? He looked like a regular Catatonius addict, now that I think about it."

"Maybe," Granger said, now looking about the room. "Think he had anything valuable hidden around here? It doesn't look like whoever broke in was after potions ingredients or money."

Draco shrugged diffidently, glad to forget the tension that had been there a minute ago. "We can always ask him again when he's in his right mind."

Granger nodded thoughtfully, raising the camera to her eyes to take a few pictures of the chair, the beakers, the full cabinet. "Where did they break in?"

"Back door." He nodded towards the area, and together they walked over to examine the flimsy door. Draco trailed a finger in the scorched grooves, then hastily pulled it back, rubbing it against his robes.

"Dark magic," he said, rubbing finger and thumb against one another. Granger's trusty camera captured the images, but fell away from her face to reveal wide eyes. "This suddenly got much more interesting."

"I don't know about Dark magic, but that's a lot of force and effort for something that must be very small," Granger said, sounding worried. She brushed past him to get a few more pictures from different angles. "The suspect got through the wards…somehow. I'd think the wards around a chemist's shop would be pretty strong…"

"Unless Old Dungo's been letting things slide as of late," Draco interjected. "His shop is out of the way, wouldn't attract much attention, and from the state of things inside, whatever's missing could go missing for days without being noticed."

"Who goes to the trouble of using Dark magic to break into a shop in Diagon Alley and doesn't take anything?" They contemplated her question for a moment. "We could go back and look through regular inventory. It's possible that someone had a really bad headache and couldn't wait for Dungo to open…"

"No," Draco replied, twisting his lips. "We're missing something. Something small. Something that this person thought Dungo would miss - either because his head's three meters off the ground, or because it's something he wouldn't look for right away…"

He went back to the counter, trying to take it all in at once, see if anything was amiss. This was a task performed with much greater ease in neat and orderly homes. Behind Dungo's counter, however, things were terribly messy, though in an organic way, an arrangement that spoke more of a distracted mind than of a thief intent on finding something. Draco prowled from shelf to shelf, acutely aware of the fact that Granger was watching him instead of the scene.

He almost missed it - the corner of a parchment envelope, jammed underneath the till. He beckoned to Granger to take a picture before he carefully extracted it, examining the stamp and embossment on its front.

"See the rip? The smudged fingerprints?" he said excitedly. "I think this must have been what the suspect was after. Good chemists - or at least ones that have been at it for a while - always wash their hands before going to work."

He thumbed the envelope over, looking for something, some hint of what might have been inside - an explanatory letter, a bill or an invoice…

Nothing.

Piqued, Draco slapped it back down on the counter, swearing under his breath. Hermione mirrored his disappointment. They were still rookies, he knew, apt to get excited and think they could solve a case within the hour.

He started at the feel of Granger's fingers upon his own, and whipped his head to look over at her. But no, she was pushing his hand to the side to get a better look at the writing on the envelope.

**Department for the Regulation and Control of Potions Ingredients**

**Ministry of Magic**

**To:**

**Hippocrates Hibblewith Dungo**

**Dungo's Chemistry**

**Number 52, Diagon Alley**

**Re: Licensure and Procurement**

"Malfoy, you were right!" she exclaimed. "This _is_ it!"

There were four words he'd never thought to come out of her mouth.

"What is what?"

"This is the thing that's missing - his licensure!"

"So?"

"Identity theft!" Granger cried.

"Sorry?"

"You know, when you steal someone's identity and pretend to be them, so that you can steal from them."

"All the restricted Polyjuice Potion ingredients are accounted for, Granger."

"No, not that!" She looked slightly flushed and excited, and he idly wondered if he looked the same way when he had a lead. "It's common among Muggle criminals. In the Department for the Regulation and Control of Potions Ingredients, you need proper clearance to order the restricted stuff - so they know they're not giving it to dealers, or to people who don't know how to distribute it properly. You need a license. I bet whoever broke in took this and is using the license to order a big shipment of some controlled items right now! Why bother with the little bit Dungo's got here when they can use his license to get a lot?"

"Are you sure?"

"No," she admitted, tearing her gaze from the envelope to look him in the eyes. "But it makes the most sense. Someone who knows Dungo came in here with the intent of just getting that license - and supposing that Dungo would be too out of it to realize for a while that they were making purchases in his name."

Draco frowned. It would make sense for a chemist to dabble in illicit potions on the side, for some extra money…it could even explain his ability to open later in the day. "Someone? Either Dungo's dealer…or someone he was supplying - who decided to cut out the middleman."

Granger grimaced. "It's the difference between a Class W and a Class Y felony, and they carry some serious differences in penalties. Unless there were some mitigating circumstances, like if his life had been threatened, or if there was a criminal information exchange of any kind, it might qualify under…"

Draco decided to cut her off before she recited the entire law book to him.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are an insufferable know-it-all?"

"Ron and Harry. Twice daily, each. I don't pay attention to them, either."

She shot him a smirk, which he returned with a glare.

"Anyway," he said, brushing past her. "I'm going to contact Oddsbodds. That license needs to be watched, so we can see what's being ordered and where it's being shipped to."

"We'll contact him together." She stepped forward quickly, and Draco felt the argument coming.

"No we won't. It's my case - you were brought on as unnecessary help. I can do this _on my own_." He tried on a sneer, which, he was gratified to note, hadn't lost any of its trademark effect. Granger pursed her lips in annoyance, the calm that she'd been displaying previously ebbing away.

" _Unnecessary!_ You wouldn't have connected the dots without my help!"

"I already found the envelope," he said, dismissing her objection with a wave of his hand. "I connected the dots and found out about Dungo's addiction and the Dark magic used to open the door. Matter of time."

"A matter of about a month, you mean," she shot back, eyes blazing. Draco fought against the instinct to back up a step and shield his face. "By which time the suspect and whatever he wanted to take using Dungo's license would be long gone!"

"Is there a problem, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy?"

In a curiously coordinated movement, Malfoy felt his head turn at the same time Granger did to look back at the hallway. Slightly sooty, an enigmatic expression on his face, Oddsbodds watched them. Draco wondered how long he'd been standing there.

"No, sir," he said. Granger shook her head.

"I take it that you have some leads on the case?"

"Yes!" They answered as one, and Draco felt that Granger was struggling just as hard not to glare at him as he was at her.

Oddsbodds spread wide a hand. "Lead on."


	3. Chapter 3

Oddsbodds alerted the Auror Office from Dungo's fireplace. In the next few minutes it took the three of them to collect all the physical evidence and Floo over to the department, there was a considerable charge to the atmosphere. From the spare room where Draco and Granger sorted collected evidence in thick silence, he could look up and see the Aurors drumming their fingers, waiting for the Department of Regulation and Control of Potions Ingredients. The trace of Dark magic used to blow the door open was unusual, and the Aurors hadn't much of a chance to chase after Dark wizards in some weeks.

Inside the evidence room, the environment was less charged with energy than it was with animosity. Granger's overly thick lettering on the evidence labels hinted at some strong inner feeling that she was biting back. Draco chose to sit at the other end of the long table.

"Miss Granger, I have an idea that I'd like to present to you, and I hope you'll agree with me that it's a good one," Oddsbodds said.

"Certainly, sir," she said, and Draco was strongly reminded of her immaculate posture and rigid attention in every class he'd ever sat in with her. He was half-surprised not to see her hand in the air.

"It concerns your scheduling - I'd like you to move from swing to day shift - the caseload change would benefit you, and you'd get better hours," Oddsbodds said, smiling.

Draco struggled to compose his features. Bumping her to day shift meant he'd have to take her swing shift - the less advantageous one. He saw her eyes flicker briefly in his direction and realized that she'd come to the same conclusion.

"I would love to, sir," she said, smiling pleasantly, almost nastily, Draco thought morosely. Leave it to Granger to show him up and screw him over in the last place he'd felt competent and strong.

"Excellent! You and Mr. Malfoy work so well together, it would be a shame to separate you. I should add as well, that it will be far easier on me to have my trainees together."

Draco could almost have laughed at the expression on Granger's face - but for the cold sinking of his stomach. Work was the one place he felt as if he had - if not the upper hand, at least someone who saw his strengths and recognized them. Granger the Genius would suck all the air out of the room.

He screwed up his face into a placid expression, watching Oddsbodds' face carefully for signs of amusement. The little man only smiled faintly as he watched the expressions play across their faces.

"Miss Granger, you can work out the rest of the weekend on swing shift, then transfer to the day shift on Monday," he instructed.

Oddsbodds left the office, and Draco could have sworn he saw the ghost of a smirk on the Investigator's face.

The silence was as thick as tar. Finally, a few minutes later, Granger began shuffling evidence around again, and Draco took that as his cue to keep working on his.

There was no help for it. With growing fury at his situation in life, he stared out the window at the Aurors, who were trying to look busy, but who kept staring at the department entrance every few seconds.

Finally, several paper airplanes zoomed into the department, aiming for the enforcement Aurors, who leaped up, wands at the ready. Draco watched with interest as they marched past the glass windows of the office, not a one looking in.

"Well, whether it's your case or mine, or both of ours, it doesn't really matter," Granger said behind him. He glanced back at her, but she was watching the Aurors. "They'll get the credit for the case, not us."

She had a point. No matter who pointed them in the right direction, just as with Seekers, Aurors would get the credit for the capture.

"Look, Malfoy," and he steeled himself at this, because her pity was worse than her bossiness. "I don't think I'm any happier about this than you."

"Unlikely, but by all means, keep trying."

"So…let's have a truce. Just keep your Muggleborn comments and insults to yourself, and we should work together all right."

"I don't say that shit anymore." Or believe in it, really, though he didn't say that out loud. Granger didn't blink at his crudity, a fact that he filed away for later consideration.

"I don't care if you do or don't," she replied. "Just don't say it around me."

He sighed, defeated. "Right. But remember - we're equals. You don't hold any rank over me." Not here, anyway. "So don't boss me around."

"Noted," she snapped. "See you Monday." Dropping the last case of evidence into one of the two boxes, she walked out of the room without a glance back.

Draco heaved a disgusted sigh.

*******************************************************************************************************************************************

Of the few Slytherins who would admit to knowing him after his defection, Blaise Zabini came by whenever he was in town. The two of them would get together at a damp pub in Hogsmeade, not drinking so much (because it brought on, rather than chased away the memories), but genuinely pleased to catch up on each other's lives.

Zabini, however, was training at the Viennese branch of Gringotts. He brought amusing stories of goblins, girls, and adventures in Muggle Vienna, but he wasn't able to bring them very often.

The nights that he didn't, Draco went to the palaestra.

Magical Law Enforcement had several offices to choose from within the department - Investigations (like Draco himself), Enforcement (like Potter), Incarceration (now that the dementors no longer guarded Azkaban), and Minor Infractions and Offenses. No matter what the office, though, they were required to keep a certain level of fitness, both in their physical condition and in their ability to track down, fight, and capture Dark wizards.

The "target practice" range was kept far away from the Ministry, for fear that all the spells bouncing around could damage or injure someone there. The palaestra, however, was open 24 hours a day in the Ministry, specifically for MLE usage, cool and quiet as a dungeon cell (though significantly less damp and with more light). Draco preferred it in the early evening hours when most other wizards and witches had gone home for supper and to spend time with their families – many preferred to get there early, or much later. More of the exercisers were clear, and he received fewer dark comments.

Most days he began with the pedambulator, running several kilometers through an enchantment that gave him the impression he was running along the coast, a stiff ocean wind at his back, cooling him (there were several versions - the rainforest was least liked as the runner would often become drenched by a sudden storm – the desert canyon, with its shaky paths and hairpin turns a close second). The weights, he'd heard, were actually quite similar to Muggle weights, although the wizard versions would take flight if one accidentally lost their grip.

He saved the swim for last, stripping down to his swimming trunks, savoring it as if easing into a warm bath.

There was a pond back at the manor, avoided by the peacocks but loved by the youngest Malfoy. Mother had been beside herself with worry until Father taught him how to swim there, struggling to keep his head above water while the clinging reeds and weeds wrapped around his ankles. Half of swimming was confidence, Father said, easily kicking away the reeds and helping his son tread water.

In the present, Draco glanced about to see if anyone was watching, then bounded off the diving board and sliced into the pool, enjoying the shock of cold water against his skin. He dove further, opening his eyes into the clear depths, a flashing red light letting him know that the pool had marked his entrance, and would immediately empty its contents if he stayed under for longer than a minute. He'd never really been able to dive much in the pond at home.

Irritated by the nostalgia, Draco kicked up, surfacing with a gasp, shaking the droplets from his eyelashes. The pond was probably overgrown with reeds as the manor and its grounds lay neglected, or so he assumed. He'd not been there for more than a year. The Malfoy fortune that the MLE had been able to find was confiscated.

Draco cut through the water cleanly in a backstroke, alone in the big pool, and wondered where his parents were nowadays.

*******************************************************************************************************************************************

The first few seconds of when he visited Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin were always disconcerting. Every time Andromeda opened the door, it took Draco a moment or two to remind himself that she wasn't the terror that her lookalike sister was. Every time he spied Teddy, he was newly amazed at the child's hair color.

Andromeda said that Dora often changed hair color at Teddy's age, and didn't discover the joys of rearranging her facial features until she was four or so. Draco was privately grateful for this fact – children around Teddy's age still mostly looked alike to him, with the exception of gender and various colorings. On Teddy, this could mean aquamarine hair in the morning, and a nauseating ginger head in the evening.

Whenever he was around Draco, however, this meant that he mimicked his second cousin's white-blond hair. Logically, Draco knew that this was probably just Teddy's way of learning to morph. Sentimentally, though, it felt as if the toddler was welcoming him to the family, a way of illustrating their familial bond. Draco never thought he'd have much patience for the very young, but he could never deny Teddy.

"Draco! Come in!" Draco stepped through the door into the Tonks kitchen, where he caught the strong aroma of mashed carrots and peas.

"Meda," he greeted her. Andromeda had once been a happy and contented woman – there was still some spark left in her eyes from the old days. Her husband had been at her side, her daughter pink-haired and pregnant, married to a werewolf. At least, that was what Draco had been told. He'd never known her in those days, never met her when she'd been cut off from the rest of the Black family, and utterly content.

As it was so often in the Tonks household, people's moods were identified by their hair color. Andromeda, once blessed with the thick dark hair shared by Bellatrix, now braided back tresses that were starkly white. Draco wondered if her hair had gone white from the shock of losing her family in the war, or if it had happened at some earlier point. He'd heard a rumor that she'd been Cruciated, but could never find the right way to bring it up in conversation.

"Dray-co!" Teddy burbled happily, racing unsteadily across the kitchen floor on his chubby feet. Draco felt himself smile for what felt like the first time that week, scooping the wiggling little boy up into his arms. Within seconds, Teddy's hair seemed to change from a light brown to a white-blond. "Hey, Teddy."

"Good," called Andromeda from across the room, where she was siphoning up splotches of mashed vegetables with her wand and directing them into the bin. "Maybe you can keep him from tossing half of his snack across the room."

"Vegetables for a snack? Who wants that?" he said, making a face at Teddy, who giggled in response. From across the room Andromeda glared at him, and he grinned roguishly in return. Carrying Teddy back to his high chair, he settled the young boy in it and reached for a spoon. "Unless it's carried by broom, that is."

"Broom!" Teddy called out. "Broom, broom, broom!"

"Broom," he confirmed, scooping up some of the mashed carrot. "Here it comes! The Chasers are aiming for the goal! Oh, no! The Keeper deflects, and Slytherin intercepts!"

Instead of pushing the spoon into Teddy's mouth, he spun it around and ate the mashed carrot instead, trying hard not to choke. "Meda, I'm not sure I blame him. Think I'd throw it across the room, too."

"Oh, don't encourage him," she scowled. "There's entirely too much Black in him and not enough Tonks or Lupin." Her face became rigid, then, and she turned away from Draco, busying herself with the teakettle. He let her, taking the spoon and trying to aim a few mouthfuls of mashed vegetables in Teddy's direction. Teddy had other ideas after a few successful goals, and Draco found himself gagging as he tried to swallow the concoction and entice his cousin's interest.

He'd spent a lonely semester at Hogwarts after the war, his mother and father already gone, when he first received an owl from Andromeda.

_I know we've never met_ , she wrote, _and I know that probably everything you've heard about me is unpleasant. But we're family, Draco, and there's no reason to have an empty house at Christmas when I've still got some family left._

In truth, he had known very little of Andromeda's existence until his teenage years – Mother and Father had not thought the topic a fit one for open discussion. But he could spend a miserable Christmas with Peeves and a school body that hated him, or he could try this.

Andromeda, surprisingly, had been a Slytherin as well. The way Mother spoke of her, he felt she must have been a Gryffindor, a disappointment and a scandal from the get-go. She knew what it was to be hounded by others for her choices, having been an outcast in her house when she started dating Ted Tonks, and a stranger to his family. It was Andromeda who taught him the skill of selective hearing, the ability to shut out the insults in order to get to where she wanted to be. Where she was now was something entirely different, he noted. She'd gone against the grain and ended up with nearly her entire family dead.

"How is work?" she asked, in a slightly strangled voice, pouring the steaming water into cups. The little cottage that she had moved into after the war was light and airy, a contrast to her overwhelming grief, and bursting to the seams with small, colorful child's toys on the floor. Draco often felt that Andromeda did certain things to balance herself out, attempting to force herself into normality for Teddy's sake.

"All right," Draco replied, fighting the urge to upchuck. "Solved an interesting case of a break-in where nothing appeared to be taken."

"Hm?"

"Chemist was addicted to potions," he explained, twirling the spoon around in midair and trying to make the toddler eat some of the paste. "He woke up and found that his shop had been broken into – but we couldn't find anything taken. Then we realized someone had his license – they were going to use it to purchase the restricted ingredients in bulk. Someone's got a big operation of illegal potions going on."

Teddy swallowed the mashed peas, making a face. "So that's one goal to me."

Andromeda slid his teacup over on the table, and he took a grateful sip, washing the vegetable taste out of his mouth. She didn't smile at his news, but she didn't smile at much that wasn't directly related to Teddy. He wondered, once again, if this was a change that had come over her since the war, or if she had been like that before.

"Harry mentioned something about you when he came by yesterday," she said, swirling her tea around in her cup.

"If he wants to visit at the same time I do, the answer's no," Draco said flatly.

"No!" Teddy echoed beside him. Draco nodded solemnly at the toddler while Andromeda rolled her eyes. While he knew that Potter was Teddy's godfather, and that he visited the Tonks house as well, he took care not to visit at the same time. He was irritated to think that Potter would discuss him with his aunt.

"He mentioned that you would be working with his friend, the one with the difficult name?" she asked searchingly. Draco sighed.

"Granger."

"That's not a difficult name, and it sounds a bit too masculine."

"No…it's Hermione Granger," he replied, peeved that thoughts of her would intrude on him here. "She's one of his best mates from school – ran around with him during the war doing Merlin knows what."

"And she'll be working with you?"

"Starting this Monday."

Andromeda stirred her tea, looking down into it as if she both wanted to say something and didn't dare. Draco used the silence to fly the spoon into Teddy's mouth once more, gratified to see that only a spoonful remained in his bowl.

"Her parents are Muggles, aren't they?" she asked.

Draco's shoulders slumped. "Yes, Meda."

"Are you all right with-"

"It mattered to me once," he said snappishly. "And I'll say it a thousand times more – it doesn't matter to me now. My blood was the last thing that mattered when the Dark Lord held my family hostage. What matters is that Hermione Granger is a bossy, know-it-all swot. Anything else I don't give a damn about."

"Damn!" Teddy spoke up. "Damn, damn, damn!"

Andromeda's look of surprised approval faded into one of irritation. "Just for that," she said, "you're eating his mashed peas tonight."


	4. Chapter 4

Monday came, and, unnervingly, Granger arrived at precisely the same time he did, so he lost the advantage of being able to look up as she entered, without a hint of welcome on his face. It irritated him.

"Good morning," he said, just to have the satisfaction of saying it first.

She raised an eyebrow. "Good morning."

He supposed that it was as good as it was going to get.

************************************************************************************************************************************

Draco knelt down, the better to get a look underneath the davenport. "More blood under here," he said.

He looked up, ready to stand, as Granger pulled the camera strap from her neck and passed it down to him. "Here you go," she said sweetly.

Damn it.

************************************************************************************************************************************

With Oddsbodd's approval, they cleared the assault scene and returned to the Ministry for lunch. Without a word, Hermione fished a little pail from her purse on the coat rack, magically resizing it as she turned in the direction of the MLE break room.

Draco paused, watching her go, before he sped off in the direction of his alcove in Maintenance.

*************************************************************************************************************************************

"What's that look for?"

"What _look_?"

"The one that says you've found something interesting."

"I haven't found anything…but I've been thinking about what that one witness said - Winterbeard was hit in the back, but he said that they were facing each other when they fought."

"You think he was lying?"

"No, I think he was telling the truth. He was drunk, but he wasn't a liar."

"Then how-?"

"Blokes don't fight like boxers, Granger. Suppose he tried to ram Kitsbury's chest with his head-"

" _Really_?"

"I'm not saying it makes _sense_ , but in the heat of the moment - look, they could be facing each other, but if Winterbeard tried to take Kitsbury down in such a way, and Kitsbury took the opportunity to hit him in the back…"

"That...actually makes sense. Though it doesn't tell us whether or not Kitsbury was in such a position because Winterbeard slugged him."

"I'm getting there. And since when do you pay attention to my looks?"

"I'm taking photographs and compiling a guide. Once I understand your patterns and emotions, I'll be able to know what you're thinking before you think it - without using Legilimency."

"Read _this_ thought, then. And feel free to use Legilimency."

***********************************************************************************************************************************

Draco noticed her red eyes in the morning and her yawns on early scenes, until her coffee began to kick in. Changing shifts wasn't easy, he supposed, though this would probably prove easier with her boyfriend's hours.

Speaking of, Weasley was now more in evidence. Several times that first week, he would come to lunch, bringing with him the one-eared twin and the screechy youngest girl - who was evidently dating Potter.

The shift change worked out marvelously well for Granger in that respect, he thought. Now the Golden Trio could join up for lunch, complete with significant others and lonely relatives. He never went to the break room, but imagined the five of them sitting there, laughing, catching up on each other's days.

For the first time, he wondered what she'd told her friends about working with him. Did they laugh, sympathize with Granger about having to work with someone they all hated? Did she ferry his comments and facial expressions back to them - did they all sit back and have a good laugh?

It's what he might have done, had things gone differently during the war, he thought sourly. Then he corrected himself. Whichever side won, he'd still have been odd man out.

Every once in a while, he regretted still being there. Regretted not being with his parents, wherever they were, who would understand, with Zabini, with Parkinson, even the dull Flint. Goyle would trail behind…drifting about as the final half of _CrabbeandGoyle_ remaining.

But he'd made his choice, and for once in his life, he was going to stick with it.

*************************************************************************************************************************************

There was a sharp uptick in the number of potions abuse cases, and Draco began to wonder whether there wasn't a larger connection. Where potions abuse went, both petty and major crimes were certain to follow, as addicts went to greater and greater lengths to feed their highs.

The addicts they'd found now seemed strangely peaceful, though. The same patterns in other traits applied - witches and wizards who went for the numbing joy of the Catatonius and Ecstasius were mostly those who had lost family or friends in the war, or those who had been under extraordinary trauma because of it. (The rumor around the office, Granger told him, was that the MLE had contacted Headmistress McGonagall, asking for permission to search the Hogwarts dormitories.)

Many had lost funds from their Gringotts accounts. While that was the usual pattern, what was unexpected was the fact that it was a modest amount - not a clearing-out of the vaults. Many abusers emptied their accounts, sold their valuables, dropped into debt, began stealing, all in order to supplement the habit.

The other bizarre phenomenon that seemed to crop up was the memory loss. Oddsbodds had told Draco that while the potions would make people forget, make them terribly happy for a short time, it was the memory they were chasing when they bought more, and the bad memories that they were running from. An attempt to reverse this in the first abuser had left him with an odd view of the world - he could remember nothing past his twenty-fourth birthday.

"Something else is going on," Draco muttered to himself, paging through the healer's reports on the latest abuser to lose memories.

"Yes," Granger said, not looking up from where she was looking through photos of the abuser's house and Gringotts vault. "I don't believe that these abusers are getting bad batches, either."

Another bizarre phenomenon - if he concentrated, he could actually have civil conversations with Granger.

"Obliviation, I suppose."

"Probably." Granger's voice sounded a bit strained. "It would explain why they can't recall who their dealers are - although they could be lying."

"Nah. I can spot a liar at fifty paces." He sneered at her raised eyebrow. "These people aren't liars."

"How do they remember the dealer they need to go back to, though?"

"I suppose they just reintroduce themselves every time," Draco said, flipping a page. "The memory might leave, but the addiction's still there - and the bad memories."

"I wonder if it's covering something else up," Granger murmured. "There's not a lot of payment being taken out, but suppose they're having to pay for it in another way."

Draco looked up, interested. "Such as?"

"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "Maybe like Nelson Philbrick? He worked in the Portkey Authority. Maybe someone picked him so that he'd make some Portkeys for them - then Obliviated him so that he'd forget that he'd done it? The only ones we know who have been Obliviated so far are those with some real skills that could be of use to someone who needed to move quickly and quietly."

He watched as she pulled out a sheaf of parchment and noted this down.

"Unfortunately," she continued, dipping her quill in ink, "it still leaves us with nothing to go on, as to who's dealing, and what else they're up to."

"No other leads from the Auror office?" Draco questioned, scratching out the ingredients found in an exploded Essence of Ecstasius brewery in Godric's Hollow. With the Granger-Potter friendship, he felt that the Boy Wonder might let slip case details to her - things she could use to get ahead of him. "Not that they'd bother to mention it to us," he added.

He snorted, then realized that Granger had snorted in derision at exactly the same time.

It was eerie, and off-putting.


	5. Chapter 5

Now that Granger was on day shift, she began to attend the gymnasium around the same time he did.

For some reason, this made him think that she was probably getting up at about the same time he was. It was a strange notion, to think of someone falling into sync with his schedule, and at first, he wondered if she was doing it deliberately, to get him to request swing shift. The idiocy of this notion struck him a moment later, and he wondered why he'd even thought of it at all.

He didn't acknowledge her presence when she walked in, clad in loose old clothes, trainers on her feet, bushy hair tied back in a ponytail. She didn't acknowledge him, either, but went straight for the pedometer. He wasn't certain, but he thought she might have chosen the volcanic path through Hawaii to run through.

Gripping the safety bar tightly, he leaned over while running, out of the enchantment bounds, trying to sneak a glimpse of Granger. Draco found her, running at a good clip, the long spill of hair wagging back and forth on her head as she moved. At first, it was amusing, thinking of Granger with a tail.

After several minutes of staring at the metronome-like movement, though, he ducked back into his own enchantment and picked up the pace.

***************************

Draco hated the corpse examinations. Especially when there wasn't much corpse left to work with.

Trained Healers would do a further examination, but it was up to Granger and himself to document and collect the various elements of the scene. Especially if said elements meant that the corpse involved was half-gone in a pool of toxic waste. Potions accidents were some of the worst, Oddsbodds told them. Cauldrons that hadn't been cleaned properly, experiments gone horribly wrong, an imprudent splash of its contents. The grand majority of them were fixed by St. Mungo's without much fuss.

Every few years or so, though, there was bound to be at least one that couldn't be fixed.

The smell hit them before anything else. Sickly-sweet with rot, Draco felt his gorge rise involuntarily, and forced it back down.

"If you need to be sick," Oddsbodds told them in a tight voice as they entered, "do it outside, please."

Beside him, Granger paled, but looked otherwise determined. Draco gritted his teeth. She wouldn't get the advantage over him in this. He'd witnessed things that still kept him up at night - torturing Death Eaters at Voldemort's wand point, watching the Muggle Studies professor be tortured and killed, hearing Ollivander's moans and pleas for mercy all hours of the day. Granger's agonized, twisted face while under his aunt's torture…

He glanced at Granger and wondered what kept her up at night. He'd never given much thought to what she, Potter, and Weasley had been doing after the Ministry takeover. Did it compare to torture?

They stepped into an oddly precise Victorian-style sitting room, overstuffed with swags of lace and velvet and dainty wooden furniture. Oddsbodds stepped daintily over the plush rug, and Draco and Granger followed, the odor getting stronger as they moved to the back of the home.

When Oddsbodds cast a Bubble-Head Charm over himself, Draco let down his pride long enough to do the same, and saw the opalescent gleam of the bubble over Granger's head as well.

They stepped into a potions workshop that looked just as precise as the sitting room, save for half of a wizard lying on the floor, his lower half eaten away by what looked like a translucent green jelly, which mixed in and out sickeningly with the pink flesh of the man's innards. His face was a rictus of sheer agony, the muscles drawn up and locked into tight lines of unspeakable pain. It reminded Draco a little too much of the people he'd been forced to Cruciate, and he looked away.

Looking anywhere but at the wizard's face, he registered the cauldron tipped onto the floor, contents spilled across the stone floor. He couldn't see whether the bottom was intact or not, and was hesitant to step to the side for a better view - he'd rather not come into contact with that particular potion.

Someone else had evidently thought of this, for all around the remains, there was a circle of grayish powder, forming a barrier against the potion's spread. A simple _Evanesco_ would take care of it, but they still needed a sample of it, to figure out what the wizard was doing, and what went wrong.

He looked along the wall, noting certificates and pictures of prizes received, honors awarded. Nelson Prufrock, he realized, must have been quite the potions expert. And wouldn't an expert keep detailed records?

As one, he and Granger knelt down just beyond the containment line and began examining the scene.

"The cauldron bottom is intact," he said, craning his neck to get a better look and taking advantage of Granger's silence. Her camera flashed madly, with a constant whirring and clicking of metal instrumentation.

"Did MLE say whether there was a fire burning when they arrived?" she asked, her voice muffled by the bubble.

"No, no fire," Oddsbodds said, in the same distorted tones. "Now tell me, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy. What do you see?"

When Granger didn't rush to be first, Malfoy took the opportunity again. "I smelled something like curdled milk before I put the Bubble-Head Charm on - and I don't think that's part of Mr. Prufrock."

Beside him, Granger nodded in agreement. "Whatever did this - presumably the potion, but not necessarily, only disintegrates soft flesh. I can see Mr. Prufrock's bones exposed. The cartilage and musculature is eaten away, but the bones seem to be completely intact. Not to mention that the stone floor seems to also be undamaged."

They spend the rest of that morning documenting evidence. From an examination of the potions ingredients laid out on the counter, Prufrock's potion should have been harmless. Draco looked back through his previous experiments, though, and found the culprit ingredient - oceanic doxy droppings.

After Granger scraped the bottom of the cauldron and analyzed the residue, they determined that Prufrock must not have cleansed his cauldron thoroughly before starting the new potion. Sad, pointless, and preventable, Granger concluded, but no evidence was there to suggest that foul play was involved.

They decided to bypass the crowd outside and apparated directly to the Ministry to begin sorting the evidence out in the cool laboratories.

Once they were behind closed doors, Oddsbodds looked at them both keenly, making Draco and Granger very self-aware for the moment, pausing as they unloaded bags of potions ingredients and stacks of photographs.

"I've never had trainees before that didn't cry or vomit at this kind of scene," he said baldly. There was neither admiration nor disapproval in his tone. He wasn't sure how to answer.

"I think we both saw a lot during the war that we didn't want to see," Granger spoke up timidly, chancing a glance at Draco.

_And wasn't that the fucking truth?_ \- though he didn't voice that thought aloud. Had she been thinking about the same things he had?

**************************

"It could have something to do with the bowtruckle eggs - maybe they were out-of-date?"

"Out-of-date bowtruckle eggs wouldn't do a damn thing but fizzle in the brew at that point. If you look at the last potion he brewed, though, he used bicorn horn. It's known for its ability to act as a catalyst among heavy metals and pliable woods. Add some of that to this, and you just might get an explosion."

Granger looked at him strangely, and Draco realized that she was taken aback by his knowledge of the subject.

Outrage flared up in him, flames whipped up by her presumption. He didn't really mind if most wizards and witches in England thought he was evil - he'd been on the other side, after all. To have someone assume that he was stupid, though…

"I'm not one of the two clods you hang about with," he hissed at her, taking satisfaction in the inch or so she drew away from him. "So don't expect their level of idiocy from me."

"Ron and Harry are not clods!" Granger fairly shrieked. "How did you bring them into this?"

"Into what?" he snarled. "Besides, it was well-known that you were always doing their work for them."

"I did not!" There was a half-second of hesitation there, which told him quite a bit. She might not have done all their work for them, but she'd certainly been a heavily-utilized resource. "Besides, we always assumed that Slytherins got passing grades in Potions because Snape was the Head of House."

That hadn't occurred to him – though there was a fair amount of truth in it. They sat there, glaring at each other in heated silence.

Oddsbodds chose that moment to walk in.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy," he said, almost formally. "Congratulations - here are your first subpoenas." He held out twin rolls of parchment, which both took with a bit of trepidation.

Draco unrolled it, skimming through the legal language that never failed to give him a headache.

"You'll testify before the court on the evidence you gathered at Dungo's Chemistry," he said. "They're moving fast on this one, and they targeted the two of you, knowing that you're trainees. That will come up, by the way. Whenever the barrister begins hammering at your lack of experience, remind them that all your work was checked over and approved by me."

He stopped for a moment, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing at his shining brow. Draco exchanged a glance with Granger. They had never seen their mentor unnerved by anything - did he have that little faith in them?

And did he just exchange a glance with Granger?

"The number one rule in giving a testimonial is to always - _always!_ \- keep your cool," Oddsbodds said seriously, drawing Draco's attention back to him. They will try to rattle you - see if you had proper authority to enter where you went, how you came to your conclusions. Explain slowly - as if to a child. Most of the people you'll be explaining your evidence to have a grounding in this, but they'll need to know that you know."

He then fixed them with a sharp glare, and Draco wondered what they had done to tick the old Investigator off.

"Above all, be honest!" he thundered lowly. "If you made a mistake, then you made a mistake. Our job is not to put a suspect in prison - it is to figure out what happened."

Oddsbodds stopped to run his handkerchief over his shining pate.

"Go and get your files!" he half-shouted. "We're going to review the case, and I'll take you through the likely questions!"

He and Granger scrambled to their feet, slightly undignified while tripping over their robes, but Oddsbodds' uncharacteristic demeanor would settle for nothing less than their complete discomfiture.

"Did we do something wrong?" Granger muttered to him, as their robes billowed behind them in tandem. Draco sidestepped a fuming witch pulling a young boy by the ear out of the Improper Use of Magic Office, and they both instinctively ducked as a flock of flying memos arrowed down the hall above their heads.

"I don't think so," he replied, going back over the case in his head. "We came to conclusions, but we didn't say who we thought was guilty. We just wrote down the evidence that led us to more evidence, right?"

"Right," Hermione said, then ducked her forehead into her palm and moaned. "This is just like final exams! Except we're going to have to go through it every other week or so!"

Draco threw her a sharp glance. "Either your wet dream or your worst nightmare, Granger."

He said it to rile her, but she just laughed, pushing her braid off of her shoulder. "Guess I'll get used to it. And I've given evidence before-"

There was a whip-crack memory of sitting in that hateful chair, the chains clinking ominously at his sides. Of Potter, stiff-faced, who didn't look at him during his entire testimony, but fixed his gaze somewhere below the Wizengamot's central podium. Of Granger, who testified, oddly enough, in whispers, and had to be asked to speak up.

They'd spoken in his defense, Potter telling the Wizengamot that his visions through Voldemort's eyes showed that Draco was being forced into acting, since his parents were kept as hostages. Granger spoke of his refusal to identify them at the manor, and the fact that he'd never identified Potter. While it was certainly true that he'd never identified Potter, even though he had been fairly certain that the Git Who Lived stood before him that day at the Manor, he wondered why Granger didn't seem to hold it against him that he'd identified her, albeit reluctantly.

She stopped speaking then, and he was grateful. He preferred not to think about the London Trials in the wake of the war, preferred not to think of the debt he owed Potter and Granger for testifying on his and his family's behalf.

He wondered if Father and Mother thought of it at all, wherever they were.

"Was it difficult?" Suddenly, he wanted to rip out his own tongue, because there were a few significant ways in which to interpret that question.

Granger held his gaze, but not challengingly, nor condescendingly. Open, as he'd never seen her before.

"I thought it would be…but no. It wasn't."

***************************************

They kept to roughly the same schedule at the gymnasium. If there was a variation, he guessed she was detained with Weasley, because on those nights she looked either a bit sly or a tad vexed.

They nodded in greeting at one another, if their heads happen to face in each other's direction. Draco found that he actually liked this. Granger wasn't talking, which meant she wasn't trying to outshine him, a welcome break. She just nodded politely, not exactly smiling, but not frowning, either.

For a few moments out of the day, he was out of the spotlight, a normal wizard.

Draco enjoyed his spotlight - part of why he resented Granger at Hogwarts was because she fought him for it. He never fooled himself that he was actually liked by his fellow Slytherins. They all understood Hogwarts for what it was - a proving ground where the initial power struggles that would shape their lives were fought. Hufflepuffs never understood that, Ravenclaws knew it but considered themselves above it, and Gryffindors would go to their graves denying that it should matter in the least.

Power. Respect. What heady things they were to have, and what a crushing loss it was to be without. It was Voldemort who had first taken it from him. It took Crabbe and Goyle defying him, and then Crabbe dying, to make him realize that he'd actually cared about the idiots. Actually thought back to their shared afternoons lobbing insults and stray projectiles at their enemies with something akin to nostalgia.

He did not want friends. Not since Crabbe's death. Friends opened you up to torment and grief, made you responsible, filled you with that terrible, terrible sense of inadequacy. Enemies (or former enemies) were much easier to deal with.

Now no one looked at him, except to frown, or to stare, wide-eyed, before quickly looking away. To Oddsbodds, he was a peculiar trainee. To his landlady, he was the mortgage payment.

To Granger, walking past him in the gymnasium, he was just a wizard training with winged weights. Maybe.

He turned his head to watch her go by until the tickle of feathered wings on his cheek told him to relax his stance and let the weights down.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I will finish this trilogy, I swear it (before the old gods and the new). I do see messages of support, and I love you guys for it.

"The charm scan says there's no Dark magic involved."

"The charm scan is _wrong_. I can feel it." He could feel it, snapping at his skin, stinging the small paper cuts on his hands. The apartment had come up in their potential locations for illegal potions labs. Essence of Ecstasius required several savagely-obtained ingredients, leaving telltale Dark traces at the laboratory sites.

"If you want to testify about your feelings, then by all means, go ahead."

"Might actually work – I would know what they feel like, wouldn't I?"

"So would I."

"Not from being on the receiving end. Actually working with it – you get a sense of what's happened in a place. You just know."

" _How_ do you _just_ know?"

"It's a feeling in the air," he said, trying to describe it. "It's angry. You can feel its vibration in the air."

"Using Dark magic makes you a human tuning fork?"

He scowled. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, Granger."

"Why?" she challenged, light sparking in her eyes. Draco could see she was spoiling for a fight. "Because I'm Muggleborn and couldn't possibly understand? Is that it?"

"No, you daft cow," he shot back, spoiling for a fight himself. "You haven't _used_ Dark magic."

"How would you know?"

"Because I've got you figured out, Granger," he began, but paused at her knowing smirk. As a connoisseur of the facial expression, he knew which ones were dangerous. "You're far too perfect to dabble in that, aren't you? Not even for theoretical examination. You can talk about it in theory, but when it comes to actually putting your magic where your mouth is-"

"I Obliviated my parents," she spat, looking like she wished she could throw the words at him.

He blinked. " _Who hasn't?_ "

"I didn't Obliviate them because they caught me sneaking in after curfew!" she blurted. "I Obliviated them to make them forget me entirely! To forget their lives after I was born! That's worse than making someone hurt – it's removing their experiences, their thoughts – parts of their soul!"

He gaped at her for a moment. "Did you put the memories back?"

Granger's shoulders slumped as the rage melted her stance. "No. They've been taken to all the specialists I can find. Sometimes we get a few moments of clarity, and I know they _know_ me. But it fades, and we're back to being strangers." She was very still, her eyes focused on something beyond his left ear. "Sometimes I ring their doorbell and pretend to need instructions, just so I can talk to them."

He eyed her, something like pity beginning to nip at his heart. Granger's rage could whip up faster than a windstorm and do more damage, but he couldn't see her as being the type to completely Obliviate her parents on an angry whim. More than that, she'd have only been able to do that once the Trace was taken off of her – about the same time she disappeared from their seventh year, he realized.

It hit him – Granger had probably Obliviated her Muggle parents to keep them safe when Muggleborns were being rounded up, when she had been a very valuable target herself.

"You did that to protect them, didn't you?" he asked roughly. "When the war started?"

She turned her face away in the gloom of the stripped room, but the failing sunlight cast a gleaming stripe across the hardened lines of her face.

"You think…you actually think that's Dark?" he sputtered.

"Isn't it? It's a violation of someone else's being, their will. How is that not Dark?"

"You didn't intend harm. You were trying to protect them. Granger, look at what _I_ tried to do to protect _my_ parents!"

"I suppose the saying 'The road to hell is paved with good intentions' never made its way to wizard ears."

He looked at her blankly. "Evidently so."

She sighed exasperatedly, as if explaining things to a small, stupid child. "It means that even if you do something with good intentions, it can still hurt someone, can still be evil. Your intentions don't excuse it."

"Excuse me for trying to live in the actual world, then," he spat with some venom. Flicking his wand at the drywall of the apartment, he muttered " _Puncturus!_ "

His spell caused a cloud of floury drywall to puff out from a circular hole that he'd blasted into the apartment wall. "Scan _that_."

With a wary glance at him, Granger redirected her scanning wand at the damaged wall. A red glow immediately emitted from the tip of her wand. Her face indicating surprise, she moved her wand closer to the puncture, seeing the eerie red glow intensify.

"Dark-blocking drywall," she said, using one hand to knock back some of the powdery substance. "That's a new one."

Draco expected to feel pride of some sort at showing up the brightest witch of the age, but he was too consumed with a roiling irritation.

"I suppose they didn't reckon on someone in the MLE Department actually having some experience in the Dark Arts," he said, his voice sounding overloud in the small apartment. "Except Perfect Potter, who can use Dark curse after Dark curse and still rise up smelling of roses. So Granger, is the road to Heaven paved with bad intentions? Or regret for bad actions? Can good things happen from someone who once had an evil intent?"

"I…I don't know," Hermione said, looking taken aback, staring at him with a sort of wonder.

"Mark the day. Granger doesn't know something," he sneered. "I'm going to go get the camera."

As he turned on his heel and left her standing stupidly in the waning sunlight, he wondered why it was so important to him that she, of all people, understand his regret – and why it had been so important to her that he understand hers.

With a growl, he rolled his eyes and turned around again, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "You think you know evil, Granger? All you know about is fighting it. I've lived with it, watched it work, been forced to do its bidding."

She looked bewildered, and he stabbed his finger in the air for extra emphasis.

"I _know_ evil, Granger. And _you_ are not evil. Not even close."

*******

"And what did the packet contain?"

"Nothing," Draco said, keeping his voice steady. Being in the Wizengamot was a nerve-wracking experience – his gaze kept drifting over to the chained chair, where he himself had sat nearly two years ago. "We realized this meant it was probably the target of the break-in, further confirmed by the order of potions ingredients that were never picked up from their delivery point." Dungo now sat in that chair with hollowed eyes, not looking at him, but staring at a paving tile ahead of him.

He felt Oddsbodd's narrowed eyes on him from the bench, and realized that he hadn't kept his answer to just the information that the counselor wanted. Thankfully, the counselor, Cornelia Belby, didn't remark on this – though it was likely that that was because she was representing the prosecution.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. No further questions."

Draco felt himself relax just slightly. This meant he was probably at the halfway mark. Up in the stands, he saw Granger, sitting next to Oddsbodds. She gave him a weak smile, and he blinked in surprise. He figured that she was nervous about her own testimony, but to give him that sign of approval…

"Mr. Custards, your witness?" Draco jerked himself back to the present. This would be the hardest part, Oddsbodds warned him – defending his findings under questioning.

"Yes – Mr. Malfoy?" Draco regarded the counselor in his robes of midnight blue, his slicked-back black hair. His face, Draco thought, was rather like that of a pinched chicken, angular and with taut skin. "Back to the day of your initial investigation, the day, presumably, of the break-in – had you ever met Mr. Dungo before?"

"I had not," Draco said.

"Not at all? You'd been through Diagon Alley more than a few times before."

"I had," Draco replied carefully, wondering where this line of questioning was going. "Fortunately, I've had very few occasions to need a chemist."

"You've been very fortunate, indeed," Custards said silkily. "Exceptionally fortunate to be sitting in that particular bench, I should note."

"Objection!" called out Belby. "Relevance?"

"I'll withdraw it, then," Custards said pleasantly. "So you had no prior history with my client?"

"None," Draco said firmly.

"From your supervisor's report, he left you alone in the shop for several minutes before Miss Granger arrived, is that correct?"

"That's correct," Draco replied, feeling his stomach turn to ice.

"So you were alone in the shop, and free to do as you pleased?" Custards said, in the same pleasant tone that suggested he could be debating Quidditch, while Draco flushed red. It was only Oddsbodds' quelling stare upon him that kept him from shouting out an insult in return.

"Objection!" Belby shouted, jumping out of her seat in a swirl of slate-grey robes.

"Sustained," came the squeaky voice of the judge. "Mr. Custards, if you cannot focus on the subject at hand…"

"Your honor, I am simply pointing out a break in the chain of custody of evidence," said Custards. "Mr. Malfoy was left alone in the shop while Mr. Oddsbodds assisted my client to St. Mungo's, and Ms. Granger was in transit to the shop. Given Mr. Malfoy's past history, it is not, perhaps, wise to rule out any possibility of tampering with the evidence…"

"Your honor, Mr. Malfoy is not the one on trial here!" Belby said, glaring at Custards. Malfoy shot a quick look at Oddsbodds, a sick feeling in his stomach. Would they decide he was more of a liability and drop him from the Investigations Department? He didn't want to even contemplate such a thing. His heart leapt up into his throat and seemed to lodge there.

"With respect, Ms. Belby, the evidence is always on trial," Custards replied equably. "In the interest of time, however, I think I'll cut it short there." He sat down, reaching over to pat Dungo on the arm, who seemed hardly aware of the doings around him.

"Very well, Mr. Custards. Rebuttal from the Wizengamot counsel?" the judge asked kindly.

Belby looked squarely at Draco, and he wondered if she had sat in on his judgment after the war. He thought he saw a bit of sympathy in her face before she opened her mouth.

"Just one question, your honor," she said. "Mr. Malfoy – did you tamper or deliberately mishandle any of the evidence in this case?"

"No," he replied firmly, as if by saying it with enough force, he could remove the doubt planted in everyone's minds by Custards.

"Very well," the judge said. "Mr. Malfoy, you may step down."

Draco was glad of his voluminous dress robes that kept his shaking legs from view. He balled up his fists as he passed by Custards' bench, but kept walking. From behind him, he could hear Granger being called to the stand.

She got up from her seat by Oddsbodds, and they passed by one another in silence. Draco kept his eyes resolutely down, but caught a glimpse of her hand reaching out of her sleeve, fingers outstretched in his direction, before seemingly thinking better of it and drawing her hand away.

With a sigh, he sank heavily into her vacated seat beside Oddsbodds, and listened to her testimony begin.

**********

Granger faced Custards down like a pro, and Draco wondered where she'd learned not to fear the power of such people.

"So Miss Granger, you've testified before the court that you did not see Mr. Malfoy tampering with any evidence."

"That is correct," she said primly, managing to look down her nose at Custards despite the fact that she was seated and Custards was standing. "When I arrived at Dungo's shop, I found Mr. Malfoy examining a list of inventory. After he brought me up to speed, we looked over that list together to see if there was anything at the shop likely to be stolen."

"It must be a familiar position for you – testifying in Mr. Malfoy's defense."

Belby looked about ready to object when Granger replied. "I'm afraid I don't understand your question – if that was a question."

Malfoy saw Oddsbodds tense on the bench next to him, and realized that Granger had stepped over the line a bit.

"I refer to the testimony you gave almost two years ago in this same courtroom, before you began working for the MLE," Custards said, as unperturbed as she. "You spoke in Mr. Malfoy's defense about his actions during the war – testimony that perhaps led to his acquittal?"

Granger just glared at Custards. "I testified before the Wizengamot on the truth of what I saw Mr. Malfoy do during the war, just as I am now testifying on the truth of what he and I found in the course of our investigation. What the court decides to do with that testimony is, of course, up to them."

Belby stared at Granger a bit slack-jawed. So did Oddsbodds. Draco gritted his teeth.

Custards looked at Granger for what felt like a long moment. "No further questions, your honor."

"Miss Granger, you may step down." Belby called forward a healer from St. Mungo's, who passed by Granger as she stalked from the witness bench and over to the bench where Draco and Oddsbodds sat.

Once she got there, Oddsbodds stood up, and Draco followed suit. Oddsbodds made a silent gesture that meant they could step out quietly.

Out from under the oppressive silence of the courtroom, Draco inhaled deeply, and thought he could hear Granger doing the same.

"Well done, both of you," Oddsbodds said with pride in his voice, though the degree to which his sweaty pate was shining was evidence of his nerves. "I have a few critiques for both of you, but that was a show of grace under fire. Lunch is on me – and that doesn't happen often, so don't expect it every time you testify."

**************

They sat together in a small café in Diagon Alley, sliding shoulder to shoulder in a small booth at the back, so that they could discuss the case in quiet voices. Draco was just glad he wouldn't be on public display. The presence of Oddsbodds and Granger also assured him that he would get service – when the frozen yogurt cart in the Ministry of Magic was staffed by the wizard with a pointy moustache, he was always informed that the cart was suddenly empty of all yogurt, though it seemed to reappear suspiciously quickly after he'd left.

He'd loved the peach frozen yogurt, too, with the little bits of fruit mixed in.

Oddsbodds picked apart their testimony, noting that they'd both strayed slightly from the counsel's questions. He did, however, praise their ability to keep from retorting angrily at attacks on their character.

Granger seemed to just be picking at her salad – Draco couldn't tell if she was listening to Oddsbodds or not, though he would guess so, knowing her. Oddsbodds was prepping them for future testimony, so he supposed that his presence on cases would not always bring that kind of reaction.

He jostled her arm by accident in the confined space, muttering a quick apology. Granger's eyes flicked up towards his own, and Draco froze, his skin prickling. Was she thinking about her defense of him? Was she ashamed? Regretful?

Once they were finished, Oddsbodds left them to speak with a friend at Madame Malkin's, instructing them to go back to headquarters and to continue sorting through the evidence in the Upmann case.

The silence remained between the two of them as they Apparated together outside the Ministry of Magic, riding down (or up – it was always hard to tell) on the lift to the MLE offices.

"You didn't need to do that, you know," Draco said, unable to stand the quiet a moment longer, batting at a flying memo that seemed to be keeping pace with his ear. "You didn't have to defend me."

Granger glanced over at him with a look he couldn't interpret. "In case you weren't listening, I wasn't." They moved quickly to sidestep two Aurors running out the door.

"But what you said…"

"Was the truth. You're an enormous git most of the time, Malfoy, but you're not a liar."

"Most of the time?" He grinned as she turned to look at him sharply and narrowly missed colliding with a Wizengamot official.

"You know, most guys would say "Thanks" and leave it at that," she sniffed.


End file.
